


Was He Yours If He Wanted Me So Bad?

by rextexx



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Homewrecking, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 02:52:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11027085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rextexx/pseuds/rextexx
Summary: “I will never forget you." The elf said. "But I'm not yours to take away.”





	Was He Yours If He Wanted Me So Bad?

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea why I wrote this, really. Always wanted to write a sort of homewrecker AU! with a happy ending? But then it became this here. No ragretz!

It didn't often happen that Íþróttaálfurinn and Glanni Glæpur met up.  
  
Alone, and without being at each others throats immediately. The elf was making sure Latabæ was free of any trouble, an additional guardian, and Glanni shouldn't be out of prison just yet.  
  
But whenever they did find themselves alone behind locked doors, they made sure the neighbors heard them too.  
  
On an old, squeaking mattress in some grubby, tiny hotel room, located in some very shady part of Mayemtown, two men kept their bodies locked tightly in violent motion. The continuous squeaking from cheap springs synchronized with ragged breathes echoed through the paperthin walls. Not to mention, the bedposts crashing into the wall in rhythm with the soft whimpers and cries was shaking the entire building.  
  
“Oh, _Íþró!”_ Glanni mewled, voice thick and raw from his sore throat and lathered with pleasure, head thrown into the raspy pillow. Nails, perfectly polished in an eyesore-enducing pink, ran angry streams over his shoulder, to the small of Íþróttaálfurinn's back. “Oh Íþró, _baby,_ don't stop, don't stop now!”  
_  
_ The elf had hoped they could make their presence a little less undetected, there were curious ears everywhere. But somehow, he couldn't bother to care much – Glanni knew his ways around this city. Not that he trusted the criminal, no. He simply knew people kept their distance from the man in the catsuit.   
  
Íþróttaálfurinn grabbed a little harder onto Glanni's sides, feeling more bones than skin or muscles at this point, and started a final spurt. Throwing his hips harder into the dainty man beneath him, he watched with gusto as Glanni's body bowed into his, mouth slack, desperate and grateful for the nearing release.

His purple-shaded eyes sprung open and his gray pupils stared back at him, deep and wet and dreamy. His long dainty arms wrapped around his neck.  
  
“C'mere, you beast!” He whimpered, and pulled him into his body, back to the mattress and Íþró obliged with no resistance, slipping against him and falling with him over the edge. Glanni's euphoric cries echoed through five floors, down to the hotel clerk, who quickly plugged a set of headphones into his ears.  
  
And suddenly, the magic was gone, and all that was left was the buzzing hot feeling of the afterglow. Sweat was pouring down Glanni's forehead, into his short cropped hair, and down his temple. There were angry purple hickeys and bitemarks that started throbbing to the beat of his erratic heart.  
  
He felt Íþró slipping off him and landing on the other side of the tiny bed. The elf grabbed for the window and opened it, letting in a gush of cold wind filled with the stench of auto exhaust and rain. It was an unusually cold day for nearly summer, but Glanni welcomed the freezing winds. It was so much more better than burning heat.  
  
Once he calmed down, sweat cooling on his heated skin, and the trembling of his muscles stopped, and the last bits of pleasant warm fuzz in his abdomen had subsided, he stretched, his long dainty limbs stuck out from each end of the bed; then he reached for his boots. He fished out a pack of cigarettes and sat up. Íþró followed suit. Both of them sat on the edge of the bed while Glanni tried his hardest to get almost empty lighter to work.  
  
He offered one to Íþró, but almost anticipated the shake of his head he received. He almost wondered why the elf wouldn't try and take the tobacco away from him either.  
  
'Smoking is bad, Glanni', he would say 'Smoking kills people', he would say, and Glanni would gladly blow smoke into his face just to see how fast the elf would get mad.  
  
Glanni took a deep drag from his cigarette, and watched the thin plumes of smoke descending out the window. Neither said a word, which was a hard contrast compared to how very noisy they were when they were in action. But Glanni didn't bother. He was born into silence, nothing but cars rolling down cold and rainy streets, a siren here and there, loud yelling or bottles smashing. Sometimes screams. Sometimes gunshots.  
  
“Say.” Glanni muttered past the smoke pouring from his lips. “You got a special lady waiting for you when you come home?”  
  
Glanni was not known for being discrete. But it just occurred to him so suddenly, it felt his lips before initiating. And besides – if they were going to keep this up, he figured he has the right to know. Íþróttaálfurinn looked very surprised at that questions. He actually stopped staring outside the window and looked up to the taller man. For a moment, they did nothing but stare at each other for a while.  
  
Then, Íþró gave a soft grin. “Who said I would go home again so soon?”  
“Oh please.” Glanni rolled his eyes. “Sooner or later I will have kicked your ass out of here faster than you can spell your own name, _elf_.”  
“I'd like to see you try.”  
  
“Don't make me. Not right no, at least. I'm too lazy.”  
  
Íþró giggled. and fell into another stretch of silence. His hands were folded, propped on his knees.  
  
“Who is she?” Glanni asked, after a good while of comfortable silence.  
“Her name is Áróra.“  
Glanni hummed and nodded. “That's a pretty name.”  
  
Hearing compliments from Glanni was so rare,  Íþróttaálfurinn actually started staring back at the criminal. “What? I like the name, is all!” He bit back. “Well? Tell me more! How did you meet? How does she look like? ”  
  
Íþró grinned, and took in a deep breath. “We met at the annual Walpurgis Night festival, almost ninety years ago. I still remember the first time I saw her. Tall. Bright and wonderful. Breathtakingly beautiful. She wore a flower crown on her blond hair. Red poppies and daisies, I think. And the flames of the fire were reflecting in her green eyes.  
  
Her face is practically covered in freckles. I counted them all one day. She has exactly fifty-nine.” he chuckled softly. And even Glanni couldn't hide the ever so slight twitch of the corner of his lips that might have looked like a smile.  
  
“She has the prettiest ears in the entire elven world. She was dancing, and – I danced with her. All night long. When the sun rose over the hills, that's when I asked her if she wanted to be my mate for life. We had our first son five summers ago.”  
Glanni took a deep drag from his cigarette, and exhaled, smoke pouring from his lips.  
  
“Well la-dee-da, hold my hair while I'll puke roses and perfume.”  
“Well, you asked me for it.” Íþró chuckled, and put his fists into his sides.  
“I didn't expect some sappy hearthrob-story! I expected blood, fights to the death, damsel in distress, all that bullshit.”  
  
Glanni put the cigarette out against the wall next to him, leaving a dark burnt stain in the wallpaper. He instantly snatched a new one.  
  
“Well, I'm assuming you have a certain one you met that way?” Íþróttaálfurinn asked back, a spark of slyness in his voice. Glanni 'tsk'ed. “I wouldn't ruin my nails for some broad.”  
  
“Oh come on, you asked me – now you tell me. Do you have anybody special out there?”  
  
Glanni's eyes became somber and distant for a moment. Memories fluttered past his eyes. Usually nameless people, men, women. Men in shackles, men in suits. Women on the needles, women driving pink cadilacs. He remembered the young boy that recently stepped into his fairy ring. He remembered Stina.  
  
“No.” Glanni answered truthfully.  
  
Íþróttaálfurinn as not surprised, but not less sympathetic for Glanni. He had done practically anything to keep himself off, and away from people. Even people who might have cared for him.  
While he stayed in Latabæ, he hoped he could fill that empty spot in Glanni's heart. He shouldn't. They weren't lovers. They weren't friends. Sometimes Íþróttaálfurinn was sure he knew even less about the man than he did when he had met him the first time.  
  
He suddenly heard Glanni chuckle.  
  
“Heh.”  
“What's so funny?” the elf asked.  
  
Glanni showed a cat-like leer and began swaying his bare leg over the floor. “Well, I know I'm a lot of things, a bastard and human scum, a criminal, a fruitcake, an insufferable pest, etcetera, etcetera – But I guess homewrecker I like the most so far.”  
Íþró frowned. “You're not _homewrecking_ anything, or anybody.”  
“I'm not?” Glanni blinked slowly at him, the glitter on his eyes sparkling like a nighsky. “I suppose banging you while your wife is far away is what any loyal sportself does?”  
  
Íþróttaálfurinn paled – then blushed furiously. Red seeped from his cheeks into his neck.  
He avoided looking at him.  
  
“ Don't stress it, elf. You're not the only person slipping into escapades, and you surely won't be the last.”  
“I know.” Íþró said.  
  
“Hey, look, if she's nice and all, but _boring_ , you shouldn't feel ashamed. Women can be a goddamn bother sometimes! I get so many men that – ”  
  
“Glanni, just to be clear here,” Íþró's tone got serious all of the sudden. “She is _not_ boring. She is my mate, my mate for life. She is the mother of my children, the light of my life, and I will die at her side, no matter what happens.” He took in a deep breath. “I will never forget you. Ever. I will wish I did. But I know, I can't forget anybody in Latabæ. But you are not mine to keep. And I'm not yours to take away.”  
  
The pink neon lights outside flickered over the elf's hardened features, and inside those blue, blue eyes.  
  
Glanni watched as the ashes tumbled off his cigarette. Ah yes. That's what he had supposed. 'Stay away from things that aren't yours' he was taught, but seldom followed that idea. Despite hearing that the man sitting next to him was considering their activities very much vacuous was leaving a bitter taste on Glanni's tongue, he couldn't imagine what else he had expected. That he loved him? No. He didn't love Glanni. Nobody did.  
  
“So she is the woman you love. But I'm the man you fuck?” He said after a while. Íþróttaálfurinn didn't know what else he should say about that statement, for it was true. He nodded.The last bits of cigarette tumbled off the stub between Glanni's bony fingers and fluttered down to the ground. He shrugged, and then, he smirked.  
  
“I think I can live with that.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feels weird to write explicit language coming out of a Lazytown character. Haven't done that in a while...
> 
> For clarification: I have the headcanon that Robbie isnt related to Glanni by blood, but rather that Glanni caught him in a fairy ring, and basically 'adopted' him to be his henchman.


End file.
